


cleaning out the closet

by orphan_account



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Coming Out, Gay Panic, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Not A Fix-It, Recreational Drug Use, Slice of Life, So Sorry about that, actual homophobia, i'm gonna describe it as scenes that will be in the supercut in my ideal dream world, idk what this is tbh, stan is richie's emotional support bff, with a dramatic teenage subplot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-19
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-21 14:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20695334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: How to have a sexuality crisis that spans thirty entire years, a guide by Richard Tozier.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really don't know what this is. like i have the whole plot planned from beginning to end but idk what the plot is. richie's just gay. i know this and i love him
> 
> i haven't read the book at all sorry i can't read so this is completely based off of the 2017 and 2019 filmés

“What’s the point of this, anyway?” Richie asked, tapping his pen against the rubber of his shoe as he sat cross-legged on the grass. Stanley pointedly ignored him. He tapped faster. “Bullshit if you ask me. I’m convinced geometry has never improved anyone’s life in any way. Like, I defeated a fucking demonspawn clown monster, why the fuck do I need to know how to find the length of a hypothesis?”

Stanley continued to not respond, so Richie fell onto his back with a dramatic sigh. “Dude, come on, homework is for pussies. Let’s see who can get a rock to skip the most times. I played with Bill the other day and I swear on Eddie’s mom it went at _least_—”

“_Beep beep_, Richie,” Stan said, scrubbing a hand over his face in long-practiced exasperation. “Jesus, you’re worse than usual today.”

“You don’t believe in Jesus, dude,” Richie replied seriously. Stan fixed him with a flat, unamused stare. “C’mon, Stan the man, we never talk anymore. What’s going on with you? Any inner turmoil you wanna share? I’m here for you, buddy.”

Stanley sighed, finally putting his pen down. “What is it?” he asked flatly. Richie sat up, the heels of his palms digging into the dirt and he leaned back.

“What is what? The area of the hypothesis? Fuck if I know,” he said boredly. Stanley rolled his eyes so hard Richie was concerned they would get stuck facing the back of his skull.

“It’s _hypotenuse_, Richie,” Stanley said impatiently. “I _meant_, what is it you want to say? Get on with it so we can get back to work, this test is tomorrow and if I fail I’m seriously gonna kill you.”

Richie gasped and clutched his chest theatrically. “Bollocks,” he said. “You’d be bloody hopeless without me, love.”

“You’re deflecting,” Stanley said.

“You’re deflecting,” Richie repeated blankly.

Stanley sighed, closing his notebook and shoving it into his backpack. “Okay, I’m going home,” he said, making to stand up, but Richie halted this attempt by leaning his entire body weight onto him.

“Stannn noooooo,” he whined. “Don’t go. I need you.”

Stanley shoved him off. “Start talking,” he said. Richie picked up his pen and began tapping it again. Stan waited patiently, but for maybe the first time in his life, Richie Tozier was silent.

Eventually, when it became clear that Richie wasn’t planning to speak up anytime soon, Stanley returned to studying. Richie wrapped his arms around his knees and stared blankly out at the quarry. Stanley could practically see the smoke coming from his ears as his brain worked.

This had been going on for months now. Ever since… _It_. Of course, Stanley understood that they’d _all_ been changed by It, in some way or another; there was no way anyone could go into an experience like that and come out the same. But even by those standards, something was weird with Richie. It was subtle, and Stan would bet anything that he was the only one who’d noticed, seeing as the rest of the Losers were pretty oblivious and he, personally, had the misfortune of knowing Richie pretty well. But it was there, clear as the coke-bottle glasses sitting on his nose.

He saw it in the way Richie’s typical hyperactivity was amped up to almost Eddie-level spastic, nervous energy. He watched as he spat out blatantly insensitive jokes to deflect whenever any attention was brought on him, the self-appreciative laughter never quite reaching his eyes. _It_ was gone, summer was over, and their lives, for all intents and purposes, were back to normal, but there was still something weighing Richie down.

He was still _scared_.

Stanley hadn’t bothered to bring it up, of course; another perk of being tragically well-versed in the Mind of Richard Tozier was the knowledge that any attempt to get him to have any sort of serious conversation was bound to be counterproductive. Richie had to come to him. And when he asked him to hang out one-on-one, to _study_ of all things, Stanley figured the time had finally come. As long as Richie didn’t talk himself out of it, anyway.

He could take a baseball bat to a killer clown, but talking about his feelings was too much to handle, apparently. Stanley didn’t know how this kid functioned.

“Paul Bunyan,” Richie finally said, three-quarters of a study guide later. Stanley raised an eyebrow at him, and he rapidly shook his head. “No, before that. Uh, when we were all fighting, you know? Something happened. And like, it wasn’t a big deal, I don’t even… I just wanted to tell you. Okay?”

“Okay,” Stanley said patiently.

And then Richie was talking, the words coming out of him all at once like a dam had broken, so fast that Stanley could barely keep up. “I was at the arcade playing Street Fighter right and like I was playing with this kid who was apparently Henry Bowers’ cousin? Whatever not important anyway he started to leave but I wanted him to stay because I thought he was kind of cool so I asked him to play another round and he…” Richie stopped and swallowed thickly, looking everywhere but at Stanley. “He told me I was being weird and that he wasn’t my uh, my boyfriend. I don’t know why he said that, I was just… anyway. Henry Bowers came in then, and he… he…”

Richie trailed off, the color draining from his skin and his hand shaking as he brought it up to chew on his fingernails. Stanley heard his heart pound in his ears as he watched the other boy. Why was he so freaked out about this? Getting picked on by Henry Bowers was far from unusual, and it had never phased Richie before. Even the time those guys had taken a shit in his backpack, which Stanley was pretty sure was the worst thing that could possibly happen to a person, he’d taken it in stride. But this time was different. Stanley could see it in his eyes; Richie was _terrified_.

His heart spiked in panic as his mind supplied him with the worst possible case scenario. “Richie,” he said, deathly serious. “What did Henry do to you?”

Richie blinked. “He called me a faggot,” he said. Stanley released a long, slow breath. Richie looked down at his lap. “That’s it. That’s the story.”

Stanley felt the gears begin to turn in his mind. Since the day they’d started middle school, they’d probably been called “fag” or “fairy” or “homo” more than they’d been called their own names. It made absolutely no sense for Richie to suddenly become sensitive to it now. Unless.

“Richie,” Stanley said. He felt a bit awkward, suddenly. “Are you… are you trying to tell me that you’re gay?”

Richie stood up, suddenly, knocking his notebook off of his lap in the process. He ran a hand through his hair. “Dude, I don’t fucking know! How am I supposed to know?” he asked frantically. He put his face in his hands and groaned. “I just can’t stop thinking, you know? Like, whenever you guys would talk about how hot Bev is and stuff I would agree but like, I just kinda thought guys were supposed to say stuff like that. I never really _got_ it. And with this kid at the arcade, maybe… maybe I didn’t just want him to stay because he was good at Street Fighter. Maybe… _fuck_.”

Stanley stayed silent as he let it all sink in. Whatever he’d been expecting, it certainly hadn’t been this. But now wasn’t the time for him to gape and question, Richie was scared and confused and for some reason had trusted him and him only with this, so all Stanley could do now was tell him the truth. “Breathe, Richie,” he said calmly, gently grabbing his wrist and pulling him back down to the ground. Richie buried his face in his knees. “Look, I don’t really know how to help, but… if you’re worried about me seeing you differently, or something, don’t be. It’s okay.”

Richie sniffed, rubbing at his eyes beneath his glasses. “It’s not okay,” he said quietly. “My life is over.” Stanley rolled his eyes.

“Stop being so dramatic. The way I see it, this is exactly why the Loser’s Club exists,” Stanley said. “We all have something about us that makes us different, and people hate us because of it. That’s our thing. And it’s okay, because we have each other, right?”

Richie blanched. He grabbed Stanley’s arm in a vice grip. “You can’t tell anyone else,” he said, his voice high and panicky. “Not Bill, not Mike, not… no one. Okay?”

“Uh, sure,” Stanley said. “But you should, eventually.”

“No way.”

“Not ever?”

“Not ever,” Richie said sternly. “You have to take this to your grave, Stanley. Please.”

Stanley stared at him. “You’re not even gonna tell Eddie?” he asked. Richie’s breath caught.

“What? Why are you singling him out?” he asked cautiously.

“Because he’s your best friend?” Stanley replied. Richie looked away.

“You’re my best friend,” he said. “Just promise me.” Stanley sighed.

“Fine,” he said. “I promise.”

It was starting to get dark, so they gathered up their things and grabbed up their bikes from where they leaned against the fence. They rode home in relative silence, the weight of the conversation they’d just had hanging heavily in the air around them. Stanley couldn’t help but feel anxious. _Would_ things be the same with them after this? Was that even possible? Maybe he’d start overanalyzing Richie’s every move, maybe Richie would start avoiding him, maybe they could never be completely comfortable around each other ever again now that this secret rested on their shoulders.

They stopped in front of Richie’s house, standing quietly for several beats. Then, before he could even think about what he was doing, Stanley dropped his bike and pulled Richie into a hug.

“Woah, woah,” Richie said. “Watch it, handsy. I know I’m cute, but I don’t like you like that.”

Stanley snorted, pulling back and swatting him on the head. Yeah, they would be fine. “See you tomorrow, Trashmouth,” he said, clambering onto his bike and waving over his shoulder.

“Thanks, Stan,” he heard Richie reply faintly as he pedaled away.

—

“Guys, I don’t know about this. If my mom finds out I was at a sleepover with a girl her nervous system is gonna shut down, literally,” Eddie said, hugging his pillow to his chest and pressing himself against the wall, as if a tornado siren would go off if he even stood within a few feet of Beverly. “How the hell are your parents okay with this?”

Richie handed Beverly her cigarette after he’d taken a hit, flopping back against his pillow and putting his hands behind his head. “Because they’re not here and don’t know about it?” he said casually. “I don’t think they’d give a shit, anyway. They don’t care what I do.”

Bill glanced up from his cross-legged perch on his own sleeping bag. “Wh-where are your parents, Richie?” he asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Richie replied with a shrug. “Usually if they’re not here on Friday they’re gone for the whole weekend, though, so it’s fine.”

Eddie gaped at him. “They just left you alone for an entire weekend without even telling you they were leaving?” he asked in disbelief. Richie cracked a grin.

“Yup,” he said. “I know that must be hard for you to imagine, Spaghetti, since Mama Kaspbrak still wipes your ass for you.”

Eddie grimaced. “No she— God, shut _up_,” he said. “You’re disgusting.”

“That’s definitely not the word Sonia used to describe me last night.”

“Do not call my mom by her first name, you are _not_ on a first name basis—”

“_Guys_,” Beverly cut them off loudly, flicking her cigarette out the window. She hopped off of Richie’s bed to sit on the floor, next to Bill and across from Mike. “Calm down, Eddie, nothing weird’s gonna happen. I just wanted us all to do something fun one last time before… we can’t anymore.”

The seven of them fell into a rare silence. Bill cleared his throat. “Are you s-s-sure you have to leave, B-Bev?” he asked quietly. Beverly smiled sadly.

“My aunt just won custody, so,” she said. “Now it’s just a matter of me packing my things.”

“Bullshit,” Richie piped up loudly. “Just live with me. My parents wouldn’t even notice, and if they did, I’d just tell them you’re my girlfriend and they’d be thrilled. If they thought it brought me closer to getting married and leaving they’d give us their fucking bedroom.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Ben said with a scowl.

Beverly laughed once, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Thanks, Richie,” she said. “I’ll think about it.”

Stanley sighed dramatically. “Well, as much fun as this conversation is, can we do sleepover stuff now?” he insisted. “You’re all killing the mood.”

“Stan’s in a hurry because he knows he’ll be asleep by 7:30,” Richie said. Stanley threw his pillow at him.

“What should we do?” Mike asked. “I’ve never actually been to a sleepover before.”

“W-we usually just read comics and play N-nintendo,” Bill said.

“And once Eddie’s asleep we’ll put his hand in warm water so he pisses himself,” Richie added with a grin. Eddie flipped him off.

Beverly’s eyes lit up, suddenly. “I know,” she said. “Let’s play truth or dare. That’s what they always do at sleepovers in the movies.”

“Nope,” Eddie responded without hesitation. “Nooo fucking way. I know exactly how it’s gonna go, you guys are gonna make me do something disgusting and humiliating and then act like it’s sooo funny because you’re a bunch of assholes. I don’t trust any of you for shit.”

“I think it’s a good idea,” Ben piped up quickly. “I’m in.”

“Me too,” Bill agreed.

“Let’s leave it up to Richie, it’s his house,” Beverly suggested. “What say you, Rich?”

Richie was uncharacteristically quiet as everyone turned to him. He cleared his throat. “Uh, actually, I’m with Eddie on the one,” he said casually, sitting up on his bed and picking at his nails. “Truth or dare is kind of lame, don’t you think?”

Eddie blinked. “Wow. Totally not expecting that,” he said. “I think this is the first time we’ve ever agreed on anything.”

“Aw, come on, R-Richie,” Bill said with a grin. “S-scared? You hiding some b-big secret from us?”

“Actually, now that I know Richie doesn’t want to play, I kinda do,” Eddie said thoughtfully.

“Dude,” Richie deadpanned.

“Lay off, guys,” Stanley spoke up. He was eyeing Richie in a strange, pointed manner. “Let’s just do something else.”

Richie grimaced. “No, you know what, fine,” he said. “I’m not hiding anything. Let’s play.”

Beverly clapped her hands together. “Sweet, I’ll go first,” she said. She looked around the room thoughtfully. “Stan, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Stan answered easily.

“Pussy,” Richie muttered under his breath.

Beverly grinned conspiratorially. “If you had to choose one person in this room to punch in the f—”

“Richie,” Stanley cut her off. Richie gasped affrontedly as everyone else laughed at his expense. “Not gonna lie, Bill, I’m really jealous.”

Bill looked a bit sheepish, but he grinned all the same. “It d-did feel pretty good,” he said.

“Fuck you guys!” Richie said. “I literally do not like any of you.”

Stanley shrugged, an easy smile on his face. “Richie, truth or dare,” he asked.

“Dare,” Richie replied, almost too quickly. Stanley narrowed his eyes in thought.

“Hm,” he said. He glanced around the room, pausing as his gaze fell on Richie’s Boston Terrier, sleeping soundly on the end of his bed. He smirked. “I dare you to eat one of Dagger’s dog treats.”

Richie shrugged, reaching into his bedside table drawer. “That’s it?” he asked casually, pulling out the bag of treats and holding Dagger back with his foot as the dog perked up in interest. He only hesitated for a moment before popping one into his mouth. He chewed slowly, his face staying carefully neutral throughout the process. “Well, that’s definitely the second worst thing I’ve ever tasted. Don’t worry, Eds, your mom is still in first.”

“You are repulsive,” Eddie said in vague horror. Beverly laughed until tears slid down her freckled cheeks.

“Truth or dare, Eduardo?” Richie asked cheekily, his mouth still full. Eddie gagged.

“Truth, obviously,” he said with a sigh. Richie frowned.

“You’re all so boring,” he lamented. “Fine, who’s your favorite person in the Loser’s Club?”

Eddie blinked several times. He glanced around the room, but no one seemed particularly interested in the answer to the question. “Uh… I don’t know,” he said stiffly. “You, I guess.”

Richie’s heart rate spiked, and all of a sudden he felt inexplicably shy. He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced to see the others’ reaction, but there… wasn’t one. They all looked pretty bored, actually. Stanley made eye contact with Richie, rolling his eyes in his typical _I told you so_ manner, but Richie had no idea what he’d been told. “Eds, the whole point of this game is to tell the _truth_,” Richie said with an awkward laugh. “Answer for real.”

“Oh, shut up,” Eddie said, flushing. Richie tilted his head in confusion. “Bev, truth or dare.”

Beverly grinned. “Dare,” she said.

Richie spent the next few moments in deep thought as the game continued on around him. He knew he and Eddie were friends, close friends, even, in the way he, Eddie, Bill, and Stan would always be closer to each other than they were to the other three, but it had never occurred to him that he was Eddie’s _favorite_. He didn’t think he was _anyone’s_ favorite. He’d always been pretty secure in the fact that all of his friends just barely tolerated him, honestly.

And now that he was thinking about it, really, Eddie was his favorite too. He enjoyed being around him the most, and he was always a little sad every time Eddie wasn’t there. That probably made them best friends, right? If they were each other’s favorites?

So why hadn’t he told Eddie about the arcade? Why had he gone to Stanley instead?

“That’s disgusting. You guys are gonna get mono,” Eddie said with an exasperated sigh, but he was grinning. Richie blinked, coming back to reality, and glanced over to the side.

Oh. Beverly and Bill were kissing.

“_Now_ it’s like truth or dare in the movies,” Mike said with a snort. When they finally broke apart, Bill looked a bit dazed, but he sent a look to Eddie that said he was getting half of his allowance for at _least_ the next three weeks. Eddie rolled his eyes, but his grin widened.

“Come on guys, it’s just a game,” Beverly said, but she was smiling widely and her face was almost as red as her hair. She cleared her throat. “Okay, uh, Ben! Truth or dare?”

Richie made the mistake of glancing at Ben, and he found himself looking into the face of a shattered man. He was terrified, suddenly, that Ben was either gonna burst into tears or kill Eddie in cold blood, but his expression shifted back to neutral before Richie could properly follow that train of thought. “Okay, dare,” he said, his voice carefully even. Richie winced.

Beverly tapped her chin. “Hm,” she said. “Alright, I dare you to smoke a whole cigarette.”

Ben grimaced, but reached out his hand to accept the pack as she waved it in front of him. Eddie sighed exasperatedly. “Come on, Bev, it wasn’t enough to get Richie addicted?” he grumbled. “Ben, you don’t have to do that. Lung cancer is the obvious concern, but there’s also a hundred other respiratory diseases you can get from—”

“It’s fine, not a big deal,” Ben cut him off curtly. Eddie put his hands up in surrender, shooting him a look that said _don’t say I didn’t warn you_. Ben accepted Beverly’s light and took his first hit, coughing a few times and very obviously trying to hold back on coughing more. “O-okay, so, my turn? Eddie, truth or dare?”

“Ugh, dude, I just went!” Eddie whined. He sighed. “Fine, whatever. I’ll go dare this time.”

Richie watched Ben’s eyes go dark, and he genuinely began to fear for Eddie’s life. “I dare you to kiss Richie,” Ben said.

There was a beat where time stood still. The entire room seemed to stop breathing. Richie was pretty sure the only sound was coming from his heartbeat, which he was positive the rest of them could hear as loudly as if they were pressing their ear to his chest.

“Are you joking,” Eddie finally spoke up, his voice soft with disbelief. “You— you’ve got to be _joking_! I can’t even— he just ate dog food! Dog food! Like five minutes ago! Are you serious right now? And who the hell knows where else his mouth has been, this is _Richie_, and like I _just_ said, there’s a serious risk of contracting mono! It’s flu season! We’re going to pass diseases to each other and then get pneumonia and then _die_. Is that what you want, Benjamin? Is it?”

Beverly covered her mouth and snorted loudly. “Eddie, he dared you…” she said, giggling under her breath. “You have to do it.”

“Sorry, bud,” Ben said, but he didn’t seem that sorry.

“Damn, I wish I’d brought my camera,” Mike lamented.

“Lay one on him, E-Eddie,” Bill encouraged with a grin.

Stanley was strangely silent, staring at Richie and attempting to catch his eye. Richie, however, still hadn’t reacted at all, and was staring straight ahead with his mouth hanging partially open. Eddie sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I literally hate you guys, you know that? You’re the worst friends I’ve ever had,” he bit out. He turned to Richie. “Come on, Rich, let’s just get it over with.”

Richie finally closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. “Uhhhh,” he said smartly. He wasn’t one to turn down a dare, but something was holding him back, keeping him frozen in place. Maybe it was the fact that kissing him was being used as some kind of weird, obvious revenge, which he supposed he should probably be offended by. Maybe it was because of that… thing, the really, really scary thing that he’d been doing a really good job of suppressing ever since his conversation with Stanley. Yeah, it was probably that.

There was also just something about the fact that it was Eddie. He could see himself kissing Stanley or Bill as a joke without breaking a sweat, but for some reason, since it was _Eddie_, he was about to have a heart attack. Which was stupid because, as he’d recently determined, Eddie was his best friend. It shouldn’t be a big deal. Really.

“Yeah, um,” he said, shaking it off and breaking into his classic shit-eating grin. “Yeah, come on, Eds. Let’s see if you kiss better than your mom.”

Eddie rolled his eyes dramatically, getting up off the floor and heading toward where Richie was perched on his bed. They held eye contact for what must have only been a few seconds, but felt like years to Richie. Eddie didn’t look nearly as scared as Richie felt, more annoyed than anything, but still seemed to be getting a read on him to make sure he was really okay with this. Richie nodded once. Apparently, Eddie took that as his cue, and he leaned forward and captured Richie’s lips in his.

Richie felt every single nerve in his body transform into a livewire. His breath left him completely, and that had nothing to do with another person’s mouth being on his, since the kiss only could have lasted half a second at most. It was just a chaste, dry press of lips against lips, and then it was over, and Eddie was crawling back to his seat. Richie’s fingers and toes tingled until they went numb.

“If I get mono and die, I don’t want any of you at my funeral,” Eddie said bitterly.

Beverly was cackling at their expense, her hands pressed to her mouth and her eyes lit up with pure glee. “Aw, come on, you guys didn’t swap _any_ spit,” she chastised. “I wanted to see some tongue.”

“I think R-Richie just fell in l-love,” Bill teased, glancing pointedly at where Richie was still completely frozen on the bed. Richie tried to force a laugh, but nothing came out.

Eddie glowered. “Shut up,” he said. “Just shut the fuck up, all of you, and die.” Beverly laughed harder.

“Okay, okay,” she relented, wiping tears from her eyes. “It’s your turn, Rich.”

Everyone turned to Richie. He licked his suddenly very dry lips. “I, uh,” he said, but that was all he could get out. The connection from his brain to his mouth, which had never failed him before, had suddenly gone faulty.

“Wait,” Stanley suddenly spoke up, his voice as disinterested as always. “Hold the game for a minute, I’m gonna make some popcorn. Richie,  
come show me where it is.”

Richie just stared at him blankly, so Stanley rolled his eyes and pulled him up off the bed. He stumbled along after him until they made it to the kitchen. “Uh, cabinet above the microwave,” Richie said blankly.

Stanley eyed him carefully. “…You okay?” he asked. Richie felt the panic hit him all at once.

“Oh my god,” he said, covering his mouth with his hands and leaning back against the fridge. “Ohhhh my god. Fuck. Shit.” Stanley nodded.

“Okay, yeah. I figured,” he said. “Honestly, I kind of already knew. Actually, I suspected before you even told me you were ga—”

“Dude!” Richie hissed under his breath. He thumped the back of his head hard against the fridge. “What the hell?! This is not okay, shit, what am I supposed to do?”

Stanley rubbed the back of his neck. “Um, I mean, I guess maybe you could tell him?” he said. Richie stared at him flatly for a long time. “What?”

“Oh, sorry, I was waiting for you to say you were joking,” Richie deadpanned. “Because I would literally rather crawl back into the sewers and suck face with Pennywise the fucking clown.”

“That’s not dramatic at all,” Stan said, unimpressed.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? I can’t just… he’d freak out, and then it would ruin everything. We wouldn’t be friends anymore,” Richie said. To his own horror, he felt himself getting choked up. “Is that what you want? You want the Losers to fall apart because… because I’m fucking fa—”

“Richie!”

“No, fuck off!” Richie snapped, his voice cracking. He grimaced, lowering his volume back down to a harsh whisper. “Stan, I’m just… I’m really fucking confused, okay? I don’t understand what’s going on, I’m thirteen, I’ve never even kissed anyone until like five minutes ago and it was _Eddie_, and now you’re telling me you knew I liked him when _I_ didn’t even know that. And even if I had my shit figured out, which I _don’t_, Eddie’s… normal. He’s not like me.”

Stanley frowned, shifting from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” he said. Richie sighed.

“Can we please just not talk about this? Like, ever?” he asked pleadingly. “Just forget I ever said anything.”

Stanley paused. “No,” he said. “I mean, I won’t bring it up anymore, but I won’t forget. Because you… you have a crush on Eddie, and that’s like, huge, Richie. You need someone to talk to.”

Richie stared at him for several long moments. “Why are you so cool about this?” he asked softly. “You were born in Derry. Hell, your dad’s the rabbi. I know you were raised to think people like me should burn in hell or whatever.”

He expected Stanley to tell him to fuck off for insinuating he’d let his father influence him in any way, but surprisingly, the other boy seemed to pause in thought. “I don’t know. It’s just not weird to me,” he said with a shrug. “You’re just Richie.”

Richie thought about that. He continued to think about it for the rest of the night, up until he was lying in bed wide awake, the sound of Ben’s snoring filling his room. He was just Richie. He was Richie, who liked boys, who liked _Eddie_.

He wished it was as easy for him to accept as it apparently was for Stanley.

Richie startled, slightly, as he heard shifting on the floor beneath him. He was effectively blind without his glasses in the dark, but at the sound of an inhaler being triggered, it wasn’t difficult for him to determine who was awake.

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice suddenly whispered, much closer than Richie had expected. He squinted into the darkness. “Move over, I’m sleeping with you.”

Richie felt his stomach drop. “What? No,” he hissed. “Go back to sleep.”

“When’s the last time you cleaned your room, anyway? Because I swear there’s asbestos down there,” Eddie replied seriously. “I mean it, I can’t breathe. And I’m _not_ getting mesothelioma.”

Richie groaned, covering his face with his pillow. “You’re insane,” he mumbled.

“This is not a joke, Richie. My mom’s old neighbor breathed in asbestos once and he died of prostate cancer,” Eddie said. “Come on, move.”

“No! This is a twin bed, we’re not both gonna fit.”

“What do you mean? We’ve slept together on here a billion times.”

Richie groaned. “That was… different. We’re bigger now,” he muttered, but he could feel himself getting beaten down. “Whatever. If you kick me I’m making you sleep out in Dagger’s dog house.”

“Deal,” Eddie said triumphantly. He clambered into bed, and Richie turned the other way and pressed himself as close to the far wall as possible. “Night, Rich.”

Richie swallowed. “Night, Eds,” he choked out. Eddie might have protested the nickname, but Richie couldn’t hear over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this is plotless so far but there WILL be more equally plotless chapters pls stick around


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> added some taggies
> 
> lots more plot in this chapter and also drama bc teenagers are like that

“What are we doing this weekend? Richie asked, lying on his back and staring up at the bleachers above him. Stanley shrugged.

“We can see the new Batman movie,” he suggested, reaching over to pluck the joint from Richie’s fingers. He took a hit and coughed once. “Or you guys can just come hang out at my place. My dad’ll probably be preparing for Passover all weekend.”

Richie seemed to think on this. He took the joint back from Stanley and took a long, slow drag. “What d’you think, Edison?” Richie called. “Wanna see Batman Returns? Michelle Pfeiffer is pretty hot.”

Eddie glanced up at them from his safe distance at the other end of the bleachers. “Uhh, this weekend?” he asked distractedly. He turned back to the notebook in his lap. “Can’t, I’m… I gotta do something with my mom.”

Richie sat up, scoffing. “That’s funny,” he said. “Anyway, we can all just meet at Stan’s tomorrow morning and then catch a matinee.”

“I’m serious, Richie,” Eddie said with a frown. Richie rolled his eyes.

“Okay, first of all, can you come over here?” he asked exasperatedly. “I don’t wanna have to yell across the fucking stadium to talk to you.”

“Absolutely not,” Eddie snapped back. “I am not breathing in your fucking… toxic drug fumes. Don’t come crawling to me when you both get chronic bronchitis.”

Stanley giggled, a telltale sign that he was high, but he took the joint back from Richie and put it out. “Okay, okay,” he said. “I really do think you should smoke with us, though. Might chill you out a little bit.”

“No way in hell,” Eddie replied without hesitation, gathering his things and moving closer to them now that they were done poisoning his air supply. “I’m genuinely embarrassed to be friends with you guys. Like, you’re really gonna sit behind the bleachers and smoke pot during school hours? Who do you think you are, Judd Nelson?”

“If I am, you’re Molly Ringwald,” Richie replied with a crooked grin. Stanley cleared his throat. “Anyway, what’s this about bailing on us this weekend?”

Eddie sighed exasperatedly. “I just have other plans, okay? We don’t actually have to spend _every waking moment_ together,” he pointed out. Richie and Stanley both fixed him with the exact same look, and he winced. “I mean… look, maybe I can do something on Sunday. Sorry.”

Stanley shook his head. “It’s okay, we just…” he trailed off.

“I know,” Eddie replied, not meeting their eyes. A tense silence fell over the three of them. 

Bill had been the second of the Losers to leave Derry. He moved away just a few short weeks after Beverly in eighth grade, his parents desperate to start over after the tragedy their family had gone through. Ben’s parents waited until he finished his sophomore year, and then whisked him away that summer. Mike was still around, but only as around as he _could_ be, what with him living outside of town and homeschooling during the week.

The seven of them attempted to stay in contact, of course, but… it was easier said than done. They hadn’t heard from Beverly in over a year, and even Bill’s lengthy letters were getting sparse. It was like the more time that passed, the more the ones who were gone seemed to disappear. Like they woke up one day to find that Derry and everyone in it was no longer worth remembering.

They were approaching the end of their junior year, now. Eddie’s house had gone up for sale a week ago.

“I’m serious about you moving in with me,” Richie said, for probably the hundredth time. “I asked my parents, they don’t give a shit.”

Eddie sighed. “Yeah, Rich, my mom who calls the police if I’m five minutes past curfew is just gonna let me live five states away from her,” he said flatly. “If I even _brought up_ the possibility she’d have you arrested for attempted kidnapping.”

“Kidnapping you isn’t a bad idea,” Stanley said thoughtfully. Eddie rolled his eyes.

“Look, can we just not talk about this?” he pleaded. He reached into his backpack and fumbled with his inhaler. “I don’t… I can’t even _process_ the idea of leaving you guys, just thinking about it makes me want to throw up, so, please, just. Stop reminding me.”

He triggered his inhaler and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to even out his breathing. Richie and Stanley exchanged a glance. “Are you cold?” Richie asked.

Eddie opened his eyes. “What?” he asked. He glanced down in confusion, and seemed to notice for the first time that he had his arms wrapped around himself. He blinked. “Oh, um, a little.”

Richie immediately pulled his hoodie over his head and held it out to Eddie. Eddie only hesitated for a moment, before taking it and putting it on. “Batman Sunday night, then?” Richie asked. “I’ll call Mike and see if he can come.”

Eddie smiled softly, pulling the overly-long sleeves of Richie’s hoodie over his hands. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. He wrinkled his nose. “This smells like pot.”

Later, after school, Richie clambered into the driver’s seat of his Town Car and leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for several minutes. “Are you gonna tell him before he leaves?” Stanley asked casually from the passenger seat. Richie released a long, slow breath.

“Tell who what?” he asked, feigning ignorance as he sat up and started the car.

“I think you should,” Stanley continued, undeterred. “If you don’t you’ll regret it forever and probably die alone.”

Richie deadpanned at him. “Thanks, buddy,” he said.

“At least ask him to prom,” Stanley suggested. “You can even just go as friends, but like, at least you’d get some closure.”

“Good idea, Stan. I’ve really been wanting to get murdered,” Richie replied bitterly. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Look, yeah, I liked Eddie when we were in middle school, but that was like three years ago. It was a crush, I’m over it. We’re friends.”

Stanley didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Richie could feel his judgmental gaze staring straight into his soul.

—

“How was your thing with your mom?” Richie asked, picking the cherry off of Eddie’s milkshake and popping it into his mouth. Stanley and Mike had opted to head home after the movie, but Eddie had been hungry, so the two of them had walked down to the diner on the corner.

Eddie looked up distractedly. “Huh?” he said. Richie raised an eyebrow.

“Yesterday,” he explained. “That’s why you couldn’t hang out, remember?”

Eddie nodded a little too quickly. “Right, right. It was fine,” he said. He pushed his glass toward Richie. “Try this, does it taste like peanut butter to you? Because if there’s peanut butter in it my throat’s going to start closing up any second.”

Richie sighed and took a sip. “It just tastes like chocolate,” he said.

“No, I definitely think they added some by accident,” Eddie said with a grimace. “Maybe they thought I asked for chocolate peanut butter, y’know, because I was kind of quiet when I ordered.”

“Okay, here, just take mine,” Richie said exasperatedly, switching their milkshakes. “It’s strawberry. They definitely didn’t think I said strawberry peanut butter.”

Eddie relaxed immediately. “Oh, cool,” he said, attaching his mouth to Richie’s straw. “Thanks Rich. If I start gasping for air, remember, my Epipen is in the front pocket of my backpack.”

Richie rolled his eyes, leaning on his hand and watching fondly as Eddie sucked down his milkshake. He was wearing a Red Sox baseball cap, the one he wore often these days because he was self conscious about the way puberty curled the ends of his hair, and Richie’s sweatshirt, too, which he’d brought to return to him but ended up borrowing once again when he’d gotten cold at the theater. It was way too big on him; tie-dyed with the Grateful Dead dancing bears across the front. It was Richie’s favorite.

“So, prom’s coming up,” Richie said before he could stop his stupid, fat mouth from betraying him. Eddie froze. “Have you, uh, thought about it?”

Eddie glanced up at him hesitantly. “What?” he asked. “Why are you asking about prom?”

Richie laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, _I_ think it’s super lame, but Stan was saying we should go because it’s like, one of those things you’ll wanna look back on when you’re older or something. His words,” he rambled, playing with his fingers and avoiding Eddie’s eyes. “And next year you’ll be… things are gonna be different. So I was thinking maybe I could pick you up and we could go spike the punch and listen to a few songs, or whatever. Just to check it out.”

Eddie was quiet for a long time. Eventually, Richie made himself push past his nerves and glance up at him, only to see the other boy looking away nervously. Richie wanted to slam his head against the table. He shouldn’t have listened to Stanley, he should’ve just shut up for once in his life—

“I have to tell you something,” Eddie finally responded, his eyes darting around anxiously. “But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”

Richie felt his heart rate speed up. He was nervous, suddenly, for reasons he couldn’t explain. “Y-yeah, sure. Go ahead,” he said, but he wasn’t sure that he wanted him to continue. Eddie eyed him suspiciously, but continued anyway.

“Okay, so, the thing is, I’m already going to prom,” he said, his face flushing. “I have a date.”

Richie just stared straight ahead, his brain choosing to sputter to a stop rather than process that information. “Oh,” he heard himself say. “You asked someone?”

Eddie cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah, well, no. She asked me,” he said. “You know Amanda Stevens? She’s in my geometry class, and… I don’t know. She asked me and I said yes. I didn’t ever think a girl would ask me to prom, so.”

“Are you dating?” Richie asked quickly, his mouth working without his consent. Eddie choked a little.

“No! No way, I barely know her,” he said, wringing his hands. “She’s pretty cool, though, we’ve kinda been hanging out… oh, like yesterday, I totally wasn’t with my mom, Amanda wanted to help me pick out my—”

“What?” Richie interrupted, his voice louder than he’d intended. “You lied to us to hang out with some girl?”

Eddie laughed nervously. “Well… yeah, technically,” he muttered. “But you guys would’ve given me _so_ much crap if I told you that was why I couldn’t hang out, and I didn’t feel like dealing with it…”

Richie felt his hands shaking. The rational part of his brain told him that what he needed to do was take a step back and calm down, but he stubbornly ignored it. “Dude, that is so fucking not cool,” he snapped. “So it’s not enough that you’re leaving us, you’d rather spend your time left in Derry with some chick you ‘barely know’ than your best friends?”

Eddie’s expression froze. “Richie, you know that’s not—”

“No, whatever, it’s fine,” Richie said, standing up, his heart pounding against his ribcage. “I get it. No need to lie anymore, I’ll stop bothering you.”

He reached into his pocket and threw a wad of cash onto the table, before walking briskly to the door. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get away from Eddie, before he had a fucking breakdown in front of him and ruined everything.

“Richie!” Eddie called, chasing him outside. “What the fuck, are you kidding me right now? You were just gonna leave me here? You drove, asshole!”

“Call your mom to come get you,” Richie said, fumbling for his keys in his pocket.

“Oh my god, you are so overreacting,” Eddie said in disbelief. “I’m sorry I lied, okay? But you would’ve been pissed at me even if I’d told the truth and you know it, which isn’t fair! I’m not gonna apologize for having a life outside of the Loser’s Club. It just happens, okay? Bev moved on, Bill moved on… it’s just, it’s part of growing up. You can’t hate me for that.”

Richie’s footsteps slowed to a stop in front of his car. He closed his eyes and took a deep, shaky breath. “Alright,” he said. “Move on, then. Sorry for holding you back.”

“_Richie!_” Eddie said, his voice cracking. Richie slammed his car door shut.

—

Richie didn’t go to the arcade nearly as much as he had as a kid; he actively avoided it, actually, but there were some crises that only Street Fighter could fix. Besides, Henry Bowers was in juvenile detention, so there was nothing to be afraid of anymore.

_Get the fuck out of here, faggot!_

He chuckled under his breath. Wouldn’t it be nice if that were true.

He was one hit away from defeating Adon when he was rudely interrupted, suddenly, by something flying at the side of his face. “What the fuck?” he spluttered, stumbling and reaching up to pull the offending object off of him. He blinked as it entered his field of vision.

It was his sweatshirt.

“Hey, dickwad,” Eddie said. Richie grimaced at turned back to his game.

He knew that he was the one who needed to apologize. Stanley and Mike, and even Ben, who had called him from Massachusetts primarily to inform him that he was a piece of shit, had made sure he was very aware of this fact. Not that he’d needed them to. The problem was that he had no idea how to explain his behavior, especially without revealing things he absolutely didn’t want revealed, so he’d taken a detour on the way to Eddie’s house and ended up with a pocket full of arcade tokens.

He exhaled deeply. “Yo,” he said. “Wanna play?”

“Are you kidding?” Eddie responded dryly. “Do you have any idea how many kids have touched those fucking joysticks? How much bacteria is living on there?”

“Less bacteria than there is in your mom’s vagina, at least,” Richie replied dully. Eddie visibly recoiled.

“You are… a vile human being,” he said. “Is that really all you have to say to me?”

Richie shifted awkwardly. He turned away from the game to face Eddie, taking a deep breath and forcing himself to meet his eyes. “Eddie, I’m…”

“No, shut up,” Eddie interrupted. “I’m sorry. Yeah, you were a dick, and having to call my mom to pick me up from the diner sucked, but I’m the one who should be sorry. It was shitty of me to lie to you guys. I know you just wanted us to spend time together before I leave, and I know I haven’t really considered your feelings about the whole thing because I’m too busy feeling sorry for myself. It sucks for all of us, not just me. So. I’m sorry.”

Richie stared at him, his mouth hanging open slightly in shock as he struggled to come up with a response. “O-oh. Um,” he said intelligently. He shook his head. “Wait, no, fuck you! _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. You were right, I overreacted, and I was mean and it was stupid. I don’t… I don’t know why I acted like that.”

Eddie rocked back and forth on his heels, smiling slightly. “It’s cool. I forgive you,” he said. “Let’s not fight anymore, okay? It sucks. All I wanted to do the last few days was vent to you, but obviously I couldn’t because you were the one I would’ve been venting _about_, you know?”

“Yeah,” Richie nodded, feeling something tight in his chest. He cleared his throat, turning back to Street Fighter. “Sure you don’t wanna play? Scared I’ll completely humiliate you?”

Eddie rolled his eyes. “Whatever, fine. But I get to be Ryu,” he said, shoving Richie over to the second player spot.

They played in silence for a few rounds, Richie unable to stop himself from glancing around cautiously every few moments. This situation was too similar to the last time he’d been here. If Eddie knew about Richie, knew the kinds of things Richie thought about him, would he turn on him too? Would he react the way that Connor kid had? The thought made Richie’s stomach churn.

“Hey,” Eddie said, still focusing on the game in front of them. “Were you jealous of Amanda? Is that why you got so mad?”

Richie froze, watching blankly as Ryu knocked out Ken and the battle screen faded. “I… no? What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep his voice from shaking. “Why would I be?”

Eddie shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know,” he said casually. “I get jealous of you and Stan, sometimes.”

“What?!” Richie said in disbelief. Eddie flushed and looked away.

“Yeah, because you guys are really close,” he said. “And you guys have this understanding with each other that I know I’ll never be a part of. Which, I mean, that’s fine. Anyway, what I’m saying is I thought about it and I think if you were going to prom with a girl I might get mad too. Because you’re like my favorite person, ever.”

Richie swallowed thickly, his heart threatening to race out of his chest. It wasn’t fair that after six years, this kid somehow found ways to make Richie like him more every single day.

“So, yeah, anyway,” Eddie continued, looking flustered. “I gotta go home and finish my bio homework, but I’ll see you tomorrow? By the way, I’m telling everyone that I just demolished you in Street Fighter.”

Richie laughed once, weakly, and rolled his eyes. “I let you win,” he said. He smiled. “See you, Eds.”

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie said, turning to go, but he froze as Richie lobbed his sweatshirt at the back of his head. “Uh, dude, I brought this to return to you.”

“Keep it,” Richie said with a shrug. “I hate that sweatshirt anyway.”

—

Richie was nodding off to the sound of Stanley snoring beside him and _Cops_ playing on the TV when his doorbell rang, startling him to full awareness. Stanley groaned and rolled over so his face was buried in the back of the couch. “Get it,” he whined.

“I am, I am,” Richie said, tossing a blanket over Stanley’s head and scrambling off the couch. He stumbled into the front entryway and pulled open the door. “Dude, you could’ve just walked in.”

“My bad,” Eddie said with a shrug, pushing past him and beginning to pull off his dress shoes. Richie felt a waft of cologne hit him as Eddie breezed past, and he couldn’t help but stare at the other boy’s tuxedo and meticulously styled hair. He was suddenly so jealous of Amanda Stevens that he could cry. “You weren’t asleep, were you?”

“Of course not,” Richie lied. “It’s only like 10pm, who do you think I am, Stanley?”

“Fuck you,” Stanley muttered from the couch.

Eddie chuckled, and Richie smiled fondly at him. “So… how was prom?” he asked. His grin widened. “I guess the fact that you’re at my house before midnight means you’re still a virgin.”

Eddie elbowed him in the stomach without hesitation. “Fuck off,” he said. “At least I was actually with a girl. How did you spend prom night, jacking off Stanley?” 

Richie’s smile wavered. “I can hear you guys. I’m right here,” Stanley complained. “And on that note, can you shut up, please? I was sleeping.”

“Sorry, Stan,” Eddie said, but he didn’t sound very sorry. He started to unbutton his suit coat and dress shirt, reaching into his duffel bag to pull out a change of clothes. He glanced at Richie. “Wanna go outside and talk more?”

Richie flushed and looked away as Eddie casually removed his tux. “Yep. Sure,” he said. He walked over to grab his cigarettes off of the coffee table and pocketed them. When he turned back around, Eddie was wearing shorts, and that fucking Grateful Dead sweatshirt. “C’mon.”

It was chilly outside, as Maine tended to be, but it was beginning to get warmer. It would be summer soon. Something Richie might have anticipated, once, but the reality was that summer had never meant anything good for them.

Richie lit a cigarette, and Eddie wrinkled his nose. “Those things will kill you. I’m serious,” he scolded. “And you know secondhand smoke is almost just as deadly, right? You’re literally putting my life at risk right now.”

“I think you might have mentioned it once or twice,” Richie said sarcastically. “It’s fine, I’m doing us a favor. Who wants to live past forty, anyway?”

“Um, me. I want to,” Eddie said dryly. He rolled his eyes. “Whatever. You wanted to hear about prom, right?”

Richie side-eyed him. “Sure,” he said, taking a long drag of his cigarette and wishing he’d evaporate and float away with the smoke. “Did you and Mandy fall in love or what?”

Eddie sighed, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the sidewalk. They were walking aimlessly, Richie’s house slowly getting smaller as they went. “Not really. Or, not at all, actually,” he muttered. “I mean, I guess it was fine. We took pictures and danced a little. I was just… bored, I guess? She isn’t very, like, funny, or interesting.”

Richie hated that he could almost physically feel a weight lifting off of his shoulders. He let out a breath. “Aw, bummer. I was rooting for you two,” he lied through his teeth. “Ah, well. Always the next time, ay, chap?”

“I guess,” Eddie said. “Who the hell knows what I’ll be doing come prom next year. I’ll probably just spend my senior year being a friendless loser and eating lunch alone in the bathroom.”

Richie turned to Eddie seriously. “I hate to break this to you, Eds, but you’re the most likable person I’ve ever met in my life,” he said. “I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Eddie slowed to a stop, staring at Richie in surprise. “Oh. Thanks, Richie,” he said, wide-eyed. He paused. “Don’t call me that.”

Richie couldn’t help but grin, reaching out to ruffle Eddie’s gelled hair. He looked around, and for the first time, he realized where they’d wandered off to. The kissing bridge was only a few yards away. His gaze zeroed in on the fence near the enclosure; they were too far away to see what was carved there, but Richie felt like it was glowing in the darkness, like Eddie would have to be blind to miss the glaring evidence of Richie’s biggest secret.

Maybe it was a sign. Maybe Stanley had been right. He didn’t want to look back at this moment and regret it forever, he didn’t want to sit back while Eddie’s letters became fewer and further between until they eventually stopped altogether, just like Beverly and Bill’s had.

He was losing Eddie, anyway. He he had nothing more to lose.

“I’m glad you had a bad time at prom,” he forced out, wincing as he said it. Eddie gave him a flat, unamused stare.

“Just once, can we have a moment without you running your mouth?” he asked exasperatedly.

“I love you,” Richie said.

The very air around them seemed to still. Richie Tozier may have been tormented by an evil demon clown when he was thirteen years old, but he would rather go back and do that a hundred times, because this was by far the most scared he’d ever been. It wasn’t even about Eddie, it was about what he’d just confessed out loud to the world, what he’d just admitted to himself. He had to live with this, now. It wasn’t something he could just suppress and ignore anymore.

Eddie still hadn’t said anything, and in the dark, Richie couldn’t even get a good read on his expression. So logically, Richie did the only thing he could to bury himself even deeper. He leaned forward and kissed him.

It wasn’t like the quick, awkward kiss during truth or dare when they were kids, it was full of everything Richie had been holding back, everything he’d felt since he laid eyes on Eddie Kaspbrak when they were eleven years old. He reached up to hold Eddie’s cheek tenderly, his heart throbbing in his chest and his ears and his stomach until it was almost painful. He was sick and exhilarated and terrified all at once.

When he finally pulled back, Eddie didn’t move. He just stared at him, wide-eyed and open mouthed. After several beats, he licked his lips and swallowed, his expression transforming in the worst way. “Richie…” he whispered, averting his eyes.

And even if Richie hadn’t seen it in his face, he would’ve heard it in his voice. The pity. The desperate attempt to approach what had just happened without shattering Richie into a million pieces. And suddenly, Richie wished Eddie had screamed at him, wished he’d called him a faggot and slapped him, anything but _this_.

“Okay,” he said, taking several steps back. Eddie reached out for him, but he flinched away. “No, stop. I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“Wait, wait, Rich, you can’t leave like this,” Eddie pleaded, his voice cracking. Richie didn’t have to look at him to know that he’d started crying. “If you leave now I know you’re never gonna talk to me again. Please, let’s talk about this.”

Richie swallowed. It took everything in him not to throw up right there on the side of the road. “I‘m just tired,” he said, forcing the words through his raw throat. “I’m really tired. I wanna go back and go to sleep.” Eddie took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Alright,” he said. “We’ll talk tomorrow, though, okay?”

“Yeah, for sure.”

“Promise?”

Richie’s stomach lurched. “I promise,” he said.

They didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to jacob sartorius for the inspo for this chapter. that's a joke


End file.
